May 2016 Drabble
by Big Bad Wolfy
Summary: This turned out to be a continuation, of sorts to my April 2016 drabble. Wishes don't occur without consequences. This work has not been beta-ed. Rated M for foul language and sexual content. Please read the A/N.


**A/N:** This drabble fic is the result of a series of timed prompts. Hope you enjoy this continuation of April's 2016 drabble. Please do leave kudos and comment if you like, that stuff is my drug. It fuels me to day dream of B and V when I should be welding instead. Take note, this fic has not been beta-ed.

 ****** Promp 5 is not included. It's not nearly as explicit as the unedited Poison  & Honey, but I'd rather not take any chances. This fic is still **rated M** for **foul language** and **sexual content**. For the complete fic go to AO3, user name BigBad_Wolfy. ******

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Prompt 1: Irony

She was vulgar. She guzzled beer shamelessly. She had no qualms about cussing or making rude finger gestures. She would willingly get down on her knees and crawl under a car in order to fix whatever was broken amongst jumbled wires and grease and oil. Unladylike, really. But, while covered in grime she still held an underlying scent of exotic flowers and an unmistakable feminine musk. He knew her pale skin was all soft flowing curves under her dingy cover-alls. He knew her petite mouth, always ready to spit profanity and violence, tasted of sweet nectar. His lips drew up into a smirk and his brows dropped over his eyes at the thought of what wicked things that mouth could do. So soft, was she, who tried so much to be nothing but hard edges. An ironic little minx.

Bulma finished putting all of her tools away. The hair at the back of her neck stood on end. He was watching her again. It had been two weeks since their encounter on the balcony. She tried her best to ignore him, but knew it was all for naught. Eventually he'd come to her for repairs and upgrades. Trying to ignore him was pointless. Trying to forget his touch was futile. The heat of his kiss, the memory of it caused her thighs to quiver against her will.

She snorted a small laugh to herself. For such an arrogant, independent warrior he sure was needy. "Repair this! Repair that! Where are the new training bots?" He was damned lucky her mother actually enjoyed cooking for him. Where would he be without her generosity? Blowing up mountains and eating wolves and centipedes, probably. Bulma shuddered at the memory of her first day with Son-kun. It was ironic, really, how someone who claimed to need no one actually needed her.

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Prompt 2: Master

Bulma slammed the drawer of her red tool chest shut. She wasn't going to let him get to her. She was going to master her damned self-control, oh, but damn that smirk! What the hell was he smirking about anyway?

"So delicate a flower," Vegeta closed the distance between them. "Not surprising that she is covered in thorns."

He eyed her through hooded lids. He had vowed to have her again. He didn't forget; and now seemed as good a time as ever.

"Alrighty then, mister enigma," Bulma huffed as she pushed away from her tool chest and ducked away from the dark Saiyan. She "oofed" as she ran into his arm blockading her. Her wide eyes quickly turned down in annoyance. She shot him a dirty look and about faced, ready to get away from him. No such luck as she met the same barrier.

"What the fuck!?" She turned on him, voice loud enough to echo off the high ceiling. "I know you can't wait, but come on! It's 11 fucking PM. I am going to shower and I am going to bed!"

"Can't wait," he growled, "After a fortnight of you dodging me?"

He pressed her up against the red tool chest until he had her so close their noses touched. Bulma gulped, goosebumps prickling her skin. Her breath suddenly seemed hard to catch. She didn't know whether the heat she felt was coming from her or if it was him.

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Prompt 3: Three wishes

At first she wanted a life time supply of strawberries. Seemed like a great wish at the time. Until her hormones hit her full force and drove her boy crazy. When she had gathered all of the Dragon Balls she would wish for the perfect boyfriend: a guy who would adore her, and do her every bidding; a guy who would have eyes for no other girl. She thought she had found what she needed in Yamcha, but that proved to be more trouble than it was worth. What would she wish for now?

His tongue swiped a hot path along her neck and her knees buckled. His hands enclosed her hips, his grip, ungentle, but not painful. The heat building at her center burned like hot embers and as he pulled her into him she felt arousal. She gasped, and when her Jell-O legs gave out he held her fast.

Hot tongue gave way to lips sucking, to teeth nipping at her earlobe. So much for being a master of self-control, she absently thought as she reached around to grab at his thick neck as he worked his way lower, toward the zipper of her cover-alls. He reached up and roughly pulled down the zipper, almost tearing it. Without warning he yanked the top down, and pushed up her red cami.

"What the-"

He silenced her, his mouth on hers, tongue, invading, conquering. She moaned against him. When she seemed to have forgotten his infraction he moved down again, sucking, licking along her collar bone, down her breast. He claimed her pert nipple. Bulma's hands gripped at the short spikes of hair at the nape of his neck, breath coming in short gasps each time he flicked at her sensitive bud. He yanked her zipper further down, and as he pushed the oil stained garment past her hips he worked his way further south.

She wished this would never end.

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Prompt 4: Consequences

(Removed. See complete fic on AO3, user name BigBad_Wolfy.)

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Prompt 5: Monkey's Paw

Please don't stop! She had begged. He didn't.

She closed her eyes. The memory of his strained cursing as he came sent an electrified shiver throughout her body. It hadn't ended there. Out on the balcony, the first time, in her workshop, with its echoing ceiling. Hell, they had fucked everywhere but their beds for weeks.

Fucking is all that is was. Purely fucking. Raw animalistic grunts and wet, slapping flesh, and no more. There were no whispered words of devotion, no caressing, no assurances of loyalty.

"Mmm" Bulma moaned as the memory washed over her. Oh! The night that he came to her room for the first time. Gods! That night was so good! The look of desperate need in his dark eyes was all she needed to set her ablaze. He had burst through her unlocked door, fire burning behind his gaze. Looking back, she figured he must have been pissed off about something. It seemed his every action was fuel by some underlying anger. When she woke the next morning in the tangled sheets of an empty bed she ached. And when she finally crawled out of said disheveled bed and into to her bathroom she saw every angry bruise and hickey.

When their eyes met at the table that next morning, for breakfast, he made no sign of acknowledgement. When he came to her again a few days later he made no apologies.

Bulma looked down at the third pregnancy test she had done that week. A bright pink plus sign mocked her.

Please don't stop!

Like a wish made upon the proverbial monkey's paw it was granted not without repercussions.

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Prompt 6: Magic Lamp

She was a big as Capsule Corp. itself, and just as round.

Vegeta had left months ago. She didn't know where. She didn't know when he'd come back, or if he'd come back at all.

Yamcha stared in awe at her globe of a belly. Puar had fainted at the first sight of Bulma and she lay prone on the couch, out cold.

"C-Can I touch it," Yamcha asked.

Bulma rolled her eyes. "Sure, knock yourself out."

It had been over half a year since she had last seen the former bandit and his little feline friend. She didn't mind seeing Puar again, but Yamcha? She had been dreading this day for months. More than once a day she went over what words she would use to tell him. Each time she would revise, edit and re-arrange her wording. She'd lay in her empty bed, contemplating the best way to break it to him.

In the end she figured it best to tell him straight out. No lies. No apologies. What was the worst that could happen?

Well, for starters he could get supremely pissed off, storm out without a single word to her and punch out an entire wall. But, she felt she could afford to err on the side of caution.

Bulma was jolted out of her thoughts as she felt Yamcha's hand on her swollen stomach.

"Seriously? It's not a magic lamp you can make a wish on, so stop rubbing it."

Yamcha looked up at her with puckered brows and mouth drawn into a frown.

Bulma's hardened eyes softened at the pathetic sight. She rolled her eyes and sighed. What would it hurt to indulge him just a little bit?

"I- is it mine?" Yamcha looked up at her, hopefully.

It was as if dark clouds rolled over Bulma's eyes then. As her brows drew up Yamcha's heart sank. For a moment Bulma feared he knew.


End file.
